


not a word

by Okumen



Category: Bloody Monday
Genre: Gen, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 00:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3749026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okumen/pseuds/Okumen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>One more minute. Just one more minute.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	not a word

He grits his teeth against the pain as electricity courses through his body, forces back the scream and just thinks that soon, it will be over.

_One more minute. Just one more minute._

He keeps convincing himself, over and over, that it will only be another minute, as the voltage is steadily raised.

_One minute._

When the electricity is turned off, he slumps against the binds that holds him up. His body aches, cries for mercy, wants him to give up and tell them what they want to hear.

But he orders himself not to, even as a hand wraps around his throat and squeezes. He gasps, feels a dizziness creep up on him, and he wishes for the darkness. It doesn't come, however, not fully. Because the hand is removed as dark spots dances in his field of vision. 

"Talk," he is ordered, but he ignores the words. Ignores the hard slap and bites back groans of pain as fists hit him, over and over and over.

The interrogator seems to be losing his patience, and sharply turns on the heel of a boot. The switch is flipped once more, and a high stream of electrical currents rip through his body. A scream is almost torn past his lips, but he bites down hard on them. The taste of blood fills his mouth, and he sputters. It trickles down his chin and stains the sterile white tiles, and he has something to focus on now, while he resumes his previous mantra. 

_Only one more minute._

He doesn't really count, but thinks that it must be first an hour and a half later that the interrogator tires and leaves the room while cursing angrily. 

He hangs limply, madly shivering, in the straps that stretch his arms above him, exhausted beyond coherent thought. 

Someone enters the room, and unbuckles the leather around his wrists. He just keeps his eyes closed, droops against the person who is taking his down, and he feels a hand pet his hair. 

"Well done," it praises. "You're doing so well, J."

He cracks an eye open a fraction, peers at his brother.

"It might be hard on you but once you have conquered all steps, no one will be able to get information out of you."

He nods against A's shoulder, a slow, tired motion, and allows A to carry him to the base infirmary, where he is laid to rest on one of the uncomfortable beds. Still, it is the most comfortable bed he has ever laid in, as it always is after one of these bouts of intense practice. 

One day, he swore a long time ago, he will let his abusers taste the same pain. One day, but not today. First he needs to rest up, and regain his energy for next round of torture.

_Just one more minute._


End file.
